


How Change Happens

by alkjira



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: But I don't care, I say hollywood because I'm not sure this makes sense, M/M, modern!AU, tag abuse!, the closest I'll get to writing a hollywood movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:12:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo leaves London to find inspiration for his writing. When his car breaks down in the middle of the Scottish Highlands he ends up finding much more than he was looking for. </p><p>Like kittens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Change Happens

**Author's Note:**

> This has been screaming at me to be written for the last few days, and I've not been able to write anything else. But now it's done, and this definitely feels like a one-shot, so yeah. Here it is. Probably full of grammar errors because I'm re-reading this tomorrow (technically today) and checking what the hell I've written, but I just really want to post this now.
> 
> “And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.”  
> \- Libba Bray

When Bilbo Baggins’ car decides to break down in the middle of Nowhere, Scotland, visions of being eaten alive by wolves immediately start to flash before his eyes. He doesn’t know if there are actually any wolves in the area, but he also doesn’t know that there aren’t any.  
  
All in all, it seems safer to worry compared to getting eaten.  
   
His stupid cell phone has no reception, of course it hasn’t. Because things would be much too unlike the start of a horror film if it had. Not that calling someone would help much if the wolves should attack. _Hello, police? Yes, I'm being eaten alive by wolves. Could you assist in any way with that?_  
  
Still, now he can’t even let anyone know that he is potentially about to be devoured, and it’s quite possible that his agent will kill him, should he survive.  
  
Dori had been immensely opposed to Bilbo going for a bit of an adventure up north in the first place. It hadn’t mattered how many times Bilbo explained that some new sights could be just the thing to get him writing again. Dori had still pursed his lips and sent his youngest brother to stare sadly at Bilbo, under the guise of offering tea. Of course this had backfired as Ori only could manage to look forlorn for so long; after about ten minutes of sad puppy-dog eyes his natural enthusiasm had broken through.  
  
Dori hadn’t like Bilbo’s adventure _any_ better when his youngest brother offered to go with, quite the opposite, but as his disapproving gaze worked a lot better on Ori, Bilbo was the only one who ended up going.

Perhaps it’s for the best that he can’t call Dori. The world does not need to have a method for killing someone over the phone, which Dori was sure to invent should Bilbo call him... Especially considering that he’s been away for a fortnight now, without having written anything more than a few pathetic sentences.  
  
With a sigh Bilbo pokes one last time at the dead engine and declares it hopeless as he shuts the bonnet again. Something is clearly wrong as the car won’t start, but he has no way of figuring out what that could be. He would Google it, but of course internet is also something that his phone claims to have no knowledge of.  
  
The closest village (ten houses sort of lumped together is enough for a village, yes?) is about 30 miles down the road from where he’d come, and it would be getting dark in about four hours. Joy. Perhaps he should just stay with the car. Wouldn’t be the first time he slept in it. And it _could_ potentially recover from whatever had happened to it, just as sudden as it’d happened.  
  
Though perhaps…  
  
There had been a hedge, just a couple of miles down the road, after the river. The hedge had been a couple of yards from the road, and he hadn’t seen a house, or a mail box (though that could just be because all the mail carriers kept getting eaten by wolves and the postal service had complete given up), or anything to actually suggest that there was people around. Except for the hedge, which had been neatly trimmed and unapologetically bushy and thriving.

He’s got plenty of time to walk back and investigate that hedge, and time to spare to get back to the car should the hedge turn out to be a mirage or an unusually well-ordered freak of nature. The question is, does he want to?  
  
Well, yes. So far his adventure has been rather without any of the sort, and while he still would like to keep wolves out of it, a short walk down the road, in daylight, should be fine.  
  
Locking the car, with the resulting _beep-beep!_ feels almost surrealistic as the chance of someone coming across it is so small. Bilbo had done it out of sheer habit, but unlocking it again would just seem even stranger, so he leaves it.  
  
Apart from the almost-village and the potential hedge-house(s) he’s miles and miles and miles away from civilisation. And actually, the almost-village would rather need to fall beneath the miles and miles and miles category as well considering how Bilbo is not looking forwards to potentially having to walk to it. So hopefully the hedge isn’t something he’s dreamed up.

  
  
The hedge turns out to be real enough, and indeed very nicely trimmed.  
  
Surely there must be someone near-by who takes care of this, Bilbo thinks as he halts, wiping his forehead and trying to pretend that he’s not woefully out of shape. Scotland or not, it’s still in the middle of summer and the sun is rather hot. But true to form, there are still plenty of big, dark clouds looming up in the sky, hinting that they might at any given moment decide to make his life miserable in new and soaking ways.  
  
The bushes that make up the hedge are too thick to look through, much less squeeze through; not to mention that there are plenty of thorns on them, but Bilbo only needs follow the tall green walls for a short distance before coming upon a gate. The sturdy wooden gate is most definitely man-made, and it’s taller than even the hedge and very broad, but not nearly as impossible to see through.  
  
Inside the hedged area he can see a house, a fairly big one at that. It’s a sprawling wooden thing; long and low, surrounded by a cluster of other wooden buildings. Bilbo can also see the corner of a garden and a greenhouse, and the longer he remains by the hedge, the clearer he can hear an odd sort of buzzing sound in the background. But that’s not nearly as strange as all the animals he can see. Thankfully, no wolves.  
  
When he pushes at it, the gate swings open on well-oiled hinges and as Bilbo starts his walk towards the wooden house he’s struck by the thought that the horror film theme rather seems to be replaced by a fairy-tale of sorts.  
  
Sheep, dogs, hens and ponies are all milling around as they please on the inside of the hedges, all of them eying him curiously but not being in any sort of rush to do anything else. So, not particularly good guard dogs, but as Bilbo prefers to go through life without being bitten, he’s got few complaints. He was prepared to leg it back to the gate, but as that does not seem to be needed he goes back and closes the gate properly.  
  
As he continues towards the main house, one of the dogs, followed by one of the hens, comes up to greet him and Bilbo’s ear rub does not seem to be unwelcome. He would pet the chick as well, but he’s not  quite certain how to go about such a thing.  
  
“Nice, erm, chicken,” he says instead, nodding down at the feathery little creature.  
  
When Bilbo gets to the door and, failing to find a doorbell, knocks on it, he doesn’t know what to expect, but the man opening the door is definitely not it.  
  
Bilbo has to actually take a step back to be able to look the stranger in the eyes without risking tipping over in the attempt. As it, erm, stands, he still has to tilt his head a fair bit backwards.  
  
Now, Bilbo isn’t a particularly tall person, but nor is he used to feeling like a midget. Unless you count most of the time he’s spent around Thorin and Dwalin, but that could just as easily be their fondness for looking down their - not inconsiderable - noses at things they cannot control or fully understand; like why a grown man could prefer writing books for children and teenagers over those for adults.  
  
The two of them can drive him absolutely batty, but deep down they are just big softies and more importantly, he can always threaten them with Dís when they are being entirely too hopeless. Hopefully he could soon say the same about the man standing in front of him now, minus the Dís-thing as this man will likely not be suitably impressed by a woman he’s never heard of.

Not letting his trepidation show  Bilbo smiles up at the, _very_ , tall man. He fills up most of the open doorway, both height and width-wise and he looks much like Bilbo expects a lumberjack should look as he is wearing dark blue jeans, a flannel shirt and has a not-exactly welcoming frown peeking out from his messy black hair and beard. The only thing missing is the axe, but all things considered, Bilbo rather appreciate that omission. He is a bit wary though, of the way the man keeps glancing back over his shoulder.

“Hello,” Bilbo says, trying to appear friendly and harmless which is something he rather thinks he’s got a talent for. “Would you happen to have a phone I could use? My car-“  
  
“I don’t,” the man rumbles and Bilbo’s face falls. He must look miserable indeed, because the man’s frown softens slightly at the edges. “I don’t even have electricity,” he explains. “So no phone.”  
  
“Oh,” Bilbo says, peeking down at his cell phone, which still proudly proclaims that it’s useless. “I see.” Likely no cell phone either then as it would be just as uncooperative as Bilbo’s own.  
  
“What’s wrong with your car?” The question takes him a little by surprise, and he snaps his eyes back up to the potential lumberjack.  
  
“It’s not working,” Bilbo replies with a slightly embarrassed shrug. “But I’m afraid that’s as far as my knowledge about cars will take me.”  
  
“I don’t have a phone,” the man says again, and again glances back over his shoulder as if he’s afraid someone will overhear him. “But I have a car. A working one.” He seems a bit taken aback when Bilbo instantly beams at him, so the smaller man tries his best to tone it down a little. It’s hard, because Bilbo assumes that the other man is not just dangling the car in front of him before he sends him away to get eaten by wolves, so he is very pleased indeed. With a car they can definitely go someplace where there are working phones and then he can call someone to come and collect him and his car and Dori will never even have to know!  
  
“I don’t have time to give you a lift at the moment,” the man says gruffly. “But you’re welcome to come inside and wait.”  
  
And they are back into the realm of horror film. Most excellent. Or not.  
  
His father used to tell him that one day Bilbo’s curiosity would end up getting the better of him, while his mother used to refute that by saying that Bilbo’s curiosity was one of the best things about him.  
  
As Bilbo blinks to try and adjust his eyes to the comparatively darkness inside the house, he hopes that it’ll be his mum who had the right idea.  
  
Something both his parents agreed on was the importance of being polite, and as such, Bilbo mentally slaps himself over the head as he realises that he’s not yet introduced himself.  
  
The tall man is already walking down the hall in huge strides, so Bilbo trails after him while not trying to gawk at the room revealed to him as his eyes stop missing the bright sunlight.  
  
Most everything is made out of wood, and everywhere Bilbo looks there are beautiful carvings; mostly of animals. They’re etched into the walls, they run along the moulding and even show up  on the furniture. The chest that Bilbo just passed would probably make Bofur do a cartwheel of sheer joy if he saw it, and then he wouldn’t stop trying until he’s made one just as beautiful or better.  
  
“I realised that I’ve yet to introduce myself,” Bilbo calls as the man disappears into another room. “My name is- oh dear, is it sick?”  
  
The man looks up from where he’s kneeling in a corner next to a cat that is sort of half-hunched, half lying on its side on top of a blanket, and it does not look particularly comfortable. The poor thing is breathing rather heavily and its stomach looks…  
  
“She’s having kittens,” the man says without looking up. “And I’d rather you not disturb her. The kitchen is two doors down, if you’re hungry feel free to help yourself.”  
  
This leaves Bilbo as something of a loss. Part of him is busy trying to reconcile ‘kitchen’ with ‘no electricity’ (how can anyone make do without a fridge?), part is fascinated by the tiny miracle of life that is about to take place, part is absolutely horrified by it, because in the 3rd grade they were forced to watch a film of a cow giving birth, and Bilbo had nightmares for a week. The part that finally wins is the part that’s nagging at him to stop being rude and finish introducing himself.

Bilbo tip-toes up as quietly as he can as to not disturb the mother-to-be, she pays him no mind, so hopefully that is a good thing.  
  
“I said-“ the man rumbles, without looking up.  
  
“Yes, I just wanted- Hi,” Bilbo says, holding out his hand. “I’m Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins.”  
  
There’s no recognition what so ever in the other man’s face, which is not exactly a surprise since he doesn’t seem to be the type to read children’s literature.  
  
He doesn’t seem to be the type that reads at all, a shallow petty part of Bilbo chimes in with, looking judgementally at size of the size of the muscles he can see beneath flannel and denim. You don’t get those from reading.  
  
Another part of Bilbo is also keenly observing those muscles, but not in a way that can be called judgemental. No, that’s not it at all...  
  
To both those parts Bilbo bids a quick farewell when dark eyes meet his and narrows.  
  
“Beorn Bjarki,” the man says after a few moments, reaching up to take shake Bilbo’s hand. He could easily crush it, but though his grip is firm it is also quite gentle and that more than the continued absence of axes leads Bilbo to believe that he will actually get out of this house in as many bits as he entered it.  
  
“Nice to meet you,” Bilbo smiles. “And thank you for the offer, both the lift and the kitchen. If there is anything I can do-“ he waves a hand at the cat. “-just give me a shout.” Because he was a grown man now and not in primary school. A cat giving birth was no big deal.  
  
Yes, he’d just keep telling himself that.

  
  
The kitchen is interesting. As he supposed, there is no fridge.  
  
The first thing he notices upon entering the room was a  big wood burning stove, the second is the absence of the previously mentioned fridge, and the third, the third is the table.  
  
Just as the furniture out in the hall, the table is made entirely out of wood; thick, sturdy planks just sanded down enough to not give anyone sitting by it a splinter. The sides of it is entirely covered in carvings of animals.  
  
It’s absolutely beautiful and Bilbo spends a good five minutes just tracing the carvings with his fingers, gawking at the craftsmanship. He spends even longer looking at the backs of the chairs once those catches his eyes. It’s enough to make Bofur cry.  
  
Each one has an intricately carved picture carved on it, and this time it’s not animals. Instead it’s the most gorgeously rendered landscapes. Wood they may be, but Bilbo still feels like he should be able to step right into them. Embarrassingly enough, that’s how Beorn finds him; sitting on his arse on the floor, gawking up at a chair as if the sheer _notion_ of chairs is beyond him.  
  
Blushing madly, Bilbo scrambles to his feet. “I was just admiring your furniture. Wherever did you find those chairs?”  
  
“I made them,” Beorn says simply, as if it’s no big thing, as he walks over to a cupboard to grab a couple of towels. He takes them and leaves, and Bilbo stares at his retreating back, to the chairs, and back again.  
  
“They’re wonderful,” he calls after the other man.  
  
There’s no reply.  
  
Getting his phone out of his pocket Bilbo snaps a few photos. He feels rather rude doing so, but Bofur will never believe him unless he can offer proof. He’s not sure how much proof the photos will be though, because it’s rather dark in the kitchen as there’s only a small window to let in the sun. But despite the lack of light it’s an incredibly cosy and welcoming room. Nothing like the current trends in kitchens and dining rooms which all seem to lean towards endless gleaming spaces that food should not under any circumstances be allowed around, and chairs that look dreadfully uncomfortable.

Bilbo spends a few more minutes exploring before his sense of propriety reminds him that he is being very rude indeed, and his stomach also informs him that he’s not actually eaten since that morning and that his host was alright with him feeding hiself.  
  
As previously observed, there is no fridge. But he finds bread and honey and butter, some tomatoes and eggs. It was possible that the hatch in the floor will lead him down to a root cellar, but going down what could likely only be described as a dark hole is something Bilbo feels will put him back inside a potential horror film again, so he abstains from trying to find any cream or meat. The omelette he’s planning will just have to do without.  
  
The fire in the stove is already burning, but gauging what that means for his plan to cook is a little trickier. He observes the melting butter to try and get an idea of how hot the pan is, adds a little more wood, and the resulting omelette ends up only being a little burnt on one side.

Beorn comes back just as Bilbo is congratulating himself on not burning anything else as it is definitely bad form to cause fire-damage to your host’s belongings.  
  
“There’s omelette if you want,” Bilbo offers.  
  
“No,” Beorn grunts as he grabs an empty cardboard box. “Thank you,” he adds just before he disappears and Bilbo beams after him. People inclined to horribly murder you surely wouldn’t thank you for offering them food, or so he chooses to believe anyway. This is looking better and better.

After he locates plates and a fork eating is done quickly as Bilbo was very hungry. He thinks about leaving some for his host, but he had after all said no…  
  
Cleaning up proves to be trickier as Bilbo discovers that there is no running water inside the house. He’s glad Beorn does not catch him looking around in confusion at the absence of anything similar to faucets but he feels that he redeems himself slightly by spying a well outside and managing to get a bucket of water out of it without falling in or otherwise drenching himself.  
  
The concept of waiting for water to heat on a stove before being able to do the dishes is novel, and a bit boring, so Bilbo gives in to the urge to look around some more.  
  
The strangest thing in the entire kitchen is probably the ordinary notebook and ordinary ballpoint pen that’s lying on a counter. Especially the plastic pen looks so extremely out of place that it hardly looks real, and Bilbo looks around to see that his host isn’t nearby before poking at it.  
  
Once the water is hot enough Bilbo realises that there is no sink to pour it into, which makes sense, because where would the water go after he’s done with it if there are no drains. He contemplates asking Beorn, but a quick glance into the other room reveals that there is something small and slimy making its way out from the cat and Bilbo is quick to be somewhere else. He finds a tub in a corner and decides that it’ll do.

Bilbo thinks that the next adventure is probably going to be what the substitute for dishwashing liquid will be, but then he notices the bright green bottle sitting next to the dish-washing brush. He doesn’t recognize the brand, but it declares itself to be completely environmentally safe, so once he’s done with the dishes he doesn’t feel too bad about just going outside with the tub and pouring it on the ground. Two dogs come up and sniff at it, then at him, and he spends a couple of minutes petting them before going back inside again to continue cleaning up after himself.

Once that is done, and after he spent another few minutes of admiring the house and listening to low meowing and the even lower rumble of Beorn’s voice (too low to make out any words) Bilbo sums up his courage and sticks his head inside the other room to ask if he could borrow the pen and notebook that he’s found. Something slimy is still about to come out of its mother, and for a moment Bilbo really feels bad for cats. Is this really how long giving birth is supposed to take? Then he notices that the cardboard box Beorn picked up before has three considerably less slimy kittens lying in it.  
  
“Everything okay?” Bilbo asks softly, leaning against the doorway.  
  
“Two girls and boy,” Beorn informs him, and for the first time Bilbo is treated to a smile. Beorn’s teeth are very white and the smile makes the skin around his eyes crinkle, while at the same time making him look much younger, and Bilbo smiles back.  
  
“You can already tell? They’re not too young?”  
  
“I can tell,” Beorn says, going back to observing the cat(s). When Bilbo’s eyes are also drawn downwards he hurriedly asks about the pen and notebook, feeling ready to make his escape.  
  
“Sure,” Beorn says, tilting his head a little as if surprised by the question. “I think we’ve got another hour or so to go here, and then I’d like to not leave her alone for a while longer, just in case.”  
  
“That’s fine,” Bilbo assures. “Really, don’t mind me. I’m ever so grateful not to currently be eaten by wolves.”  
  
“No wolves here,” Beorn snorts, and though Bilbo said the words in jest, he’s still quietly relieved to hear it. “Bears on the other hand.”  
  
Right. Will this day never stop putting his emotions on a rollercoaster?  
  
-  
  
“We can go now,” Beorn says as he walks into the kitchen. There’s no reply from his visitor.  
  
The little man, Bilbo, seems to be highly engrossed in whatever he is scribbling in the notepad. It looks to be a lot longer than the shopping lists Beorn usually pens down, even if they usually end up being fairly long as he doesn’t visit stores all that often.  
  
It’s strange seeing another person in his home, but what’s even stranger is how he doesn’t mind it.  
   
Bilbo’s curly head his bent over the table at what must be an uncomfortable angle, not that he seems to notice. He’s seated just by the window, so the setting sun makes his hair glow the same colour as one of Beorn’s copper pots.  
  
Beorn can admit that he’s usually a little more wary around strangers, but something about this man immediately called to him, like he was one of the strays that Beorn invited in. Unlike most of those strays Bilbo seems to be rather well fed, with round cheeks and a slightly chubby middle, but there was still something lost about him.  
  
You idiot, Beorn scolds himself. He’s clearly not from around here. Obviously he’s going to be feeling a little lost. Especially if his car breaks down and strands him.  
  
“Bilbo,” Beorn says sharply, when two other attempts to call the man’s attention has failed.  
  
“Yes?” Bilbo looks up and blinks. “Oh, hello.”  
  
“We can go now,” Beorn repeats. “If you’re ready,” he adds, raising an eyebrow at the number of written pages he can see lying on the table. He means it as a gentle tease, but to his surprise, Bilbo’s brow furrows in contemplation.  
  
“Actually, would you mind if I stayed?”  
  
Beorn can feel his eyebrows climbing towards the ceiling.  
  
“Of course you would,” Bilbo adds hastily. “Never mind.” He gathers up the papers he’s written and stands up. “Yes, we can go.”  
  
“Are you in any kind of trouble?” Beorn asks slowly. This little man didn’t much look like the type, but trouble came in all shapes and sizes, sometimes even with curly hair and big eyes, and that would be a reason why someone like Bilbo - dressed neatly but not exactly practically, would be out here in the first place.  
  
“Trouble?” Bilbo looks around as if trouble was something that could be expected to show up around knee-height. What he finds is only Elin. The retriever stars up at him, wagging her tail. She’d always been a friendly one.  
  
“Hello again,” Bilbo says as he reaches down to scratch at Elin’s golden ears. “You weren’t here before.”  
  
“I didn’t want them in the house until Lena had finished having her kittens.” As if knowing that they are talking about him, Yngve trots into the kitchen. At only six months he’s almost big enough to place his head on the table. Beorn is not exactly sure what breed he is, but he’s starting to suspect that he’s got some pony in there somewhere.  
  
“Is it safe to have them here now? I mean, I’m not saying that they’ll… eat the kittens, but they can…”  
  
“Eat the kittens?” Beorn suggest straight-faced, and Bilbo smiles at him. “They’re fine,” Beorn continues. “If they do something Lena doesn’t like, she’ll be sure to let them know.”

“I’ll take your word for it then,” Bilbo says, still smiling. He’s been smiling most of the times Beorn has looked at him. No wonder he’s getting on so well with Elin. “Shall we then?”  
  
“What’s this about you wanting to stay?” Beorn asked, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
Bilbo looked a little embarrassed, but embarrassed was more to Beorn’s taste than guilty.  
  
“It was just a thought,” the little man says. “I’m a writer you see, and I’m up here on a sort of… sabbatical one might say. I’ve had writer’s block lately, and… well, I supposed you’re not interested. But for some reason this place seems to be the antidote towards that block.” He waves the bundle of papers he’s holding. “I just- oh, hello again, again.”  
  
Elin, wanting the scratching to come back has bumped her nose into the man’s free hand. She looks adoringly up at him and an answering smile spreads over Bilbo’s face. Yngve, feeling left out, nudges against Bilbo’s arm and whines.  
  
“I’m not very used to dogs,” he confesses as he bends down to pet Elin and puts the papers away to do the same with Yngve. “But yours are lovely. Very friendly.” When he straightens up again he looks more resolute than before. “I’d pay you, of course,” he says. “I’d sign a contract, get you references, anything to make you more comfortable.”  
  
“What do you write?” Beorn isn’t really interested, he’s more interested in how the dogs both seem to have adopted this Bilbo as their long lost cousin. Elin and Yngve are not aggressive or angry, not at all, but they’re usually a little more cautious when there are strangers around.  
  
“It’s for kids mostly, well, young adults. I think I’m at the stage where teenagers all look like they should be in kindergarten still. They get smaller each year. My nephew-“ Bilbo shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to go on.”  
  
“But you mean to stay?”  
  
“If you’ll let me.” Bilbo looks very hopeful, and damn if the dogs don’t copy his face and also turn their heads to stare at Beorn.  
  
“You don’t know me,” Beorn points out.  
  
“If it doesn’t work out then you can perhaps offer me that lift again?”  
  
“Fine,” Beorn says. Bilbo will probably last until he figures out what a lack of running water indoors really means. Agreeing was easier than trying to convince him otherwise.  
  
“Really?”  
  
Beorn nods and jingles his car keys. “But first we’re going to take a look at your car. And then find you a phone. ”  
   
“But you said I could stay?”  
  
“Haven’t you got somebody you should tell if that’s the case? And I hope you brought some other clothes on this sabbatical of yours than what you’re currently wearing.”  
  
The little man glances down at his shirt,  brightly coloured sweater vest and khaki trousers.  
  
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”  
  
“I meant that you’ll probably want more than one set of clothing,” Beorn explains.  
  
“Ah,” Bilbo says, blushing a little. “Right.” He awkwardly tucks some of his curls behind his ear, and Beorn notices how that the tip of his ears are pointy, just like the faeries in his grandmother’s stories.  
  
Funny how she’d never told him about any of the People of the Hollow Hills wearing sweater vests.  
  
Beorn laughs, but it’s not unkindly and Bilbo cautiously smiles at him again. “Come then” Beorn says. “Before it gets dark.”

  
  
The car’s cam belt has slipped and wrecked something it shouldn’t have, and it’s beyond what Beorn feels capable of fixing, but Bilbo seems impressed enough just by him being able to explain the problem. You’d think something like that would have been pretty obvious, but apparently not.  
  
Bilbo has chattered on the entire time they’ve been in the car, and as they head towards the nearest available phone he just picks up where he left off.   
  
It’s strange to have someone talking to you after spending the majority of your time with those who couldn’t talk at all, or those who were more like himself and didn’t really see the point of filling silence with words just to fill it, but just like before, Beorn finds that he doesn’t mind this alteration. It’s rather relaxing to have an almost constant flow of words in the background, and once Bilbo realises that Beorn doesn’t mind him asking question, the little man’s frankness is also something Beorn can appreciate.  
  
“Why do you have ponies?”  
   
“Why not?” Beorn replies, because he doesn’t see the what the difference would be between his ponies and his other animals, and Bilbo hasn’t asked about those.  
   
“You're too big to ride on them,” Bilbo points out, which is true enough. But he’s also too big to go riding on the dogs, not to mention the rest of the animals.  
  
“I have two legs of my own, I don't need to ride them,” Beorn says and Bilbo turns to look at him.  
  
“So one day you looked out into your garden and said to yourself, ah, ponies, that is what’s missing from this picture,” the little man asks with a crooked smile.

“They were going to be killed.” And just like that the smile is gone and Beorn… finds that he misses it. He explains to Bilbo about how the three ponies used to belong to a circus which went out of business, and no one could or would take care of them, and they were too old to be sold to a riding school, so they were going to be put down. Radagast, a friend, had stopped by to let him know, and that’s how he ended up with three ponies.  
  
“Just like that?” Bilbo asks and Beorn nods. Bilbo chuckles. “Well, I’m sure those ponies consider themselves fortunate.”  
  
The miles pass quickly, and Beorn is soon driving up the driveway to the Greenleaf’s house.  
  
They get out of the car, Bilbo having to more or less hop down as the truck is a lot further off the ground than his little car, and he seems more than a bit distracted by the size of the house they’ve stopped outside. The Greenleaf’s house is certainly impressive. Beorn isn’t entirely clear on the details, but he thinks that Thranduil’s father founded some very successful company or another, but he hasn’t asked about the details and Thranduil and his wife has not shared. In the same way, he knows that their son his away at University, but not where or what he studies. It’s none of his business.  
  
“Still no reception on your mobile?” Beorn asks.  
  
“Nothing,” Bilbo replies, glaring down at the phone as if it’s insulted his honour.  
  
“Thought not,” Beorn shrugs. “It’s the mountains.”  
  
The door to the house opens and Thranduil steps out onto the porch.  
  
“Beorn? Is everything all right?” he asks.  
  
“Yes, Lena’s had her kittens now,” Beorn grins because they were seven in total and all healthy. “And I’ve picked up another stray, only this one would like to use your phone.”  
  
“Hi,” Bilbo says, waving his hand at Thranduil. “I would very much appreciate it.”  
  
“You were the one who drove past here earlier today,” Thranduil ascertains and Bilbo nods.  
  
“My car broke down,” he explains. “And it would seem that my cell phone has become convinced that there are no more cell towers in the world.”  
  
“You are welcome to stay with us, should you wish it,” Thranduil offers. “You won’t find anyone to take a look at your car until sometime tomorrow anyway.”  
  
“Thank you, but I’m staying with Beorn.”  
  
“Are you now?” Thranduil says, but though the question seems to be directed at Bilbo, it’s Beorn who he looks at. Beorn shrugs one shoulder.

As Bilbo goes inside to make his calls Thranduil arches a pale eyebrow at Beorn.  
  
"He is staying with you?"  
  
"I'll expect that you'll see him tomorrow if they haven't fixed his car. He asked to stay, but I don't think he's understood how I live yet."  
  
"But you are going to let him stay?"  
  
Beorn scowls at Thranduil. "You offered as well, do you think I'm less hospitable than you?"  
  
"Yes," Thranduil said. "I do. You never have people stay with you."  
  
"No one asks. Usually."  
  
"You can invite people."  
  
Beorn shrugs again. “Who would I invite.” It’s not a question and he knows that Thranduil can hear it.  
  
The blond merely nods, and they spend the next few minutes engaging in what for them counts as small talk, which is not really that much talking when it comes down to it. They are interrupted when Meriliel comes outside. She walks up to her husband and smiles at Beorn.  
  
"This is not your regular kind of stray, Beorn,” she declares. "But I do like how he is not peeing on the carpet."  
  
"Very funny."  
  
"Yes I thought so,” she says. “He's currently being yelled at by someone called Dori or possibly Dory. Is he really staying with you?"  
  
Thranduil shoots Beorn a smug look. Beorn frowns and Meriliel takes that to mean he's unhappy about the arrangement.  
  
"Well don't worry, he might change his mind. Or rather have it changed for him. Or he might need to seek medical attention for busted eardrums. This Dori person is amazing."  
  
"I don't mind him staying," Beorn says roughly. "If I was, then he wouldn’t stay. The dogs like him, so he's good people. He walked right up to the front door without a peep from them."  
  
Meriliel arches an eyebrow in mirror to her husband's, but before she has time to say anything Bilbo comes out to join them. He walks down off the porch and stops next to Beorn.  
  
"So," Bilbo says. "I'm grounded. And we better get back to your house before Dori traces the call and sends the army."  
  
“I thought this Dori was your agent, and not a general?” Beorn says, watching the Greenleafs both tilt their heads in question when he says ‘agent’.  
  
“Best not to take any chances,” Bilbo smiles.  
  
Thranduil waves off Bilbo's offer of compensation for using the phone, telling Bilbo that anytime he wants to come by, that’s fine.  
  
As they walk back to the car Beorn puts his hand on Bilbo’s back. He doesn’t know why, but he knows it feels right.  
  
-  
  
"Did you call a mechanic?"  
  
"Yes, Bilbo says. “I got the number from, um, Meriliel. I think he understood where the car's at, so he'd be by sometime tomorrow to collect it. I told him I was staying with you, so he should stop by your house and pick up the keys. I hope that’s okay?”  
  
“Sure,” Beorn says. “But I don’t understand why you bothered locking it in the first place.”  
  
“Neither do I to be perfectly honest,” Bilbo says a bit self-consciously. “But it felt wrong to just leave it unlocked.”  
  
After they’d picked up his belongings Bilbo considered not locking the car, but it just didn’t feel right to leave it before he’d heard the usual little _beep-beep!_  
  
As they walk up to Beorn’s house Bilbo can’t help but wonder if Beorn’s hand is going to press against his back again. When it doesn’t Bilbo surmises that he probably just did it to get him to walk a little faster.  
  
“We never discussed the matter of compensation,” Bilbo begins as they enter the house.  
  
"Let's see if you stay first. Then we'll talk about it."

It sounds slightly ominous, and also a bit like Bilbo should feel insulted, but as he opens his mouth to ask Beorn to expand on what he’s just said a cat meows and Beorn dumps the part of Bilbo’s things that he’d offered to carry and goes off to check on what Bilbo assumes is the new mother. Not knowing what else to do Bilbo puts down his own bags and follows.  
  
Kittens are remarkably cuter when not slimy Bilbo notes. It might seem like an obvious truth, but nothing to actually have seen the slime for himself to really drum it in. There’s seven kittens of varying patterns but all black and white.  
  
“Seven,” he says to the cat, Lena her name might have been. “A friend of mine had twins and from what she tells me you are about to have your hands full, or paws even.”  
  
She ignores him, but if he had just had seven babies he’s pretty sure he would be ignoring everyone else well, so he doesn’t take it to heart. Another two cats have appeared from the woodwork, hopefully not literally. One is likely the father to the kittens since he looks like them; the mother is more of a cream colour. He seems rather interested in the little ones, but the mother keeps hissing at him, so he’s constantly switching between a bright-eyed curious look and nervous tail-twitching one. The third cat, a red one, has somehow levitated up to perch on Beorn’s shoulder. Bilbo suspects that there might have been a stepladder involved.  
  
“They’re beautiful,” he tells Beorn, who neither ignores nor hisses at him.  
  
“Yes,” the tall man agrees, looking down at the kittens like, like he really loves them. It’s- suddenly Bilbo can’t understand why he was wary of him.

  
  
That night Bilbo goes asleep in a strange bed , or unfamiliar rather, because there’s nothing  strange about the bed itself, with a cat on his head, feeling like that adventure he was looking for might finally have found him. 

Sometime during the night he wakes up because the rain is smattering against the window and somewhere in the distance he can hear thunder. He briefly considers getting up to unplug anything electrical before realising that he’s being quite silly. The cat has migrated to lie on his stomach and when Bilbo starts to pet it, it purrs happily. It’s a soothing sound, and so is the steady plink-plonk of the rain once he gets used to it, and it’s not long before Bilbo’s hand tumbles down to the blanket as he once more falls asleep.

 

Bilbo adapts to life without electricity or indoor plumbing much better than either he or Beorn imagined. Or, at least much better than he himself imagined, but he likes to think he’s managed to surprise his host as well.

There are a few hiccups. Like when he spends the first two days sneezing over the ponies before he seems to become accustom to them. Or when Frida deposits a live rat in his bed.  
  
When Gunnar does the same with a dead one.  
  
(Bilbo isn’t quite sure which of those happenings he disliked the most.)

But he manages.

And the writing goes better than it has ever done. He finishes all of Beorn's notepads in no time at all even though he actually ends up spending several hours each day helping his host, or trying to. The rent he and Beorn finally agreed on seems much too low to Bilbo, despite what Beorn claims, and doing what he can around the house makes him feel better. ‘Around the house’ soon turns out to be mostly _outside_ the house, as Bilbo discovers that while he gets the hang of cooking on the stove fairly quickly he’s not that good at cleaning and washing without there being a vacuum cleaner and a washing machine involved. But he can pull weeds with the best of them, and brush ponies and dogs and cats, and collect eggs and feed the chickens. He cannot for the life of him figure out how to milk the cows that Beorn keeps in a stable, (they’re the only ones who cannot roam free because apparently they get lost) and the poor cow he gets to practice on will probably never forgive him.  
  
But all in all, he’s enjoying himself.

Another trip to the Greenleaf's and another phone call takes care of the lack of notepads.  
  
Bilbo expects Dori to just send a courier, but it's actually Bofur who shows up, heralded by barking dogs. Either he has a second sense about the carvings, or Dori figures that if anyone can, Bofur would be the one to charm him back to civilisation.

Unfortunately for Dori’s potential plans, Bofur practically has an orgasm when he sees the carvings and looks not to be far from begging to stay as well.

"The carved figures out in the hall, you do them as well?"

"They are not for sale," Beorn is starting to sound annoyed, and Bilbo frowns at Bofur who holds his hands up.

"All I'm saying is that if you want to do any new ones and get paid for them, just let me know."

"I'm not interested. Thank you," Beorn adds with a glance towards Bilbo who quickly ushers Bofur into what has become his room.  
  
“Bilbo!” Bofur exclaims one the door is shut behind them. “I think I’m in love, even though everything here smells like dog and or horse and or chicken shit.”  
  
“A thousand hearts cry,” Bilbo says drily. “Behave yourself would you.”  
  
“But everything here looks amazing. I want to pack up the entire house and bring it with me.” He walks over to Bilbo’s bed and brushes his fingers against the carved vines trailing along the headboard. “It must have taken him ages.”  
  
“And it’ll take me ages to find a new best friend if Beorn does away with you and hides you in the forest,” Bilbo says.  
  
“You don’t scare me,” his friend snorts. “As if you’d stay with someone like that. You’ve always had a second sense for people. Not as good as Bombur’s sense for good food, but still, fairly impressive. I don’t see why Dori’s worried. Though if you’ve something for me to take back to him, I’m sure he’ll quiet down.”  
  
“You make it sound so clandestine,” Bilbo complains as he went to fetch what he’d written so far.  
  
“What’s this one about then?” Bofur asks.  
  
“It’s about a super hero,” Bilbo says absently as he’s hunting down some missing pages. Working without a computer took some getting used to.  
  
“Doesn’t sound like your usual stuff, but I’m sure it’s excellent,” Bofur says loyally.  
  
“I guess we’ll see.”  
  
“You really staying up here then? With some random person - who is very skilled at carving I must say. That doesn’t sound like you either.”  
  
“I’ll be here until I’m mostly done with the book, unless Beorn kicks me out first.” Bilbo has worried about that, well, not that Beorn would actually do it, but that he would wear out his welcome. So far Beorn seems pleased to have the company but Bilbo assumes that he lives out in the middle of nowhere for a reason, and that’s _not_ for the company.

  
  
“You really like it here, don’t you,” Bofur says as he’s about to leave. It wasn’t really a question, but Bilbo answers anyway.  
  
“Yes, I do.”  
  
“Because of Mr. Sunshine over there?” he asks, and there’s not much confusion about who that could be. “Or despite of him?”  
  
“I thought you were the one in love,” Bilbo dead-pans. “No, I like him, but I’m not in love with him,” he says when Bofur just gives him that look that one only develops when there’s younger siblings involved and you think they are being annoying. As Bilbo does not have any siblings he’s never managed to become resistant against it. “That would be rather silly wouldn’t it.”  
  
“It wouldn’t be like you,” Bofur agrees. “Which is actually why I asked.”  
  
“Well, I’m not,” Bilbo says. “I’m not.”

  
  
“Why did you let me stay?” Bilbo asks that night when he and Beorn are sitting together on the couch in the living room. It’s not a cold night, but nor is a hot one and Beorn has started a fire which crackles merrily in the fireplace in front of them.

“Why did you ask to stay?” Beorn replies, still looking into the fire. Bilbo thinks for a few moments.

“Because I wanted to.”

Beorn makes a 'there you go' wave of his hand and Bilbo chuckles.

"Which one of us is the craziest one, you think?" Bilbo asks, leaning against Beorn's side. He was fairly sure that they had started out on opposite sides of the couch, but that was before the cats and dogs had decided that they also wanted to have a spot. It was fortunate that the ponies, cows and the chickens were not allowed inside.

"My animals liked you,” Beorn adds after a while.

"You win then," Bilbo smiles.  
  
-  
  
Beorn has always tried to be honest. It’s easier that way. He doesn’t go out of his way to tell someone when they’re being an idiot, because there is a line between honest and a complete arsehole, but as much as possible he tries to tell the truth. Sometimes the truth hurts a bit, but in the long run it’s the better choice. That honesty does not only go for what he tells other people, it also concerns what he tells himself. It’s why he’s living out in the middle of nowhere instead of in the city. It wasn’t easy, making that decision, but once he figured out that it was what he wanted, it wasn’t that hard either.  
  
It’s also why he had a house built on the same spot that his grandparents’ house had stood on before it had burnt down, because while it hurt a bit at first, he couldn’t really imagine living anywhere else when it comes down to it.  
  
And it’s why he keeps collecting strays, because he can’t really tell himself that they’ll be fine without him.  
  
So why has he just figured something out that’s he probably should have figured out a while ago? For example when he found Bilbo sneaking treats to the ponies, or playing with the dogs for hours, or talking to the kittens. Or any of the times he’d seen him without clothes, the most memorable of those when Bilbo was sunning himself by the river, on the rock Beorn had claimed as his own as a child.

But no, to figure out that he was in love with Bilbo Baggins, Beorn apparently had to be told that he was leaving. Stupid that was.

After all, Beorn had always known that he would leave.  
  
-  
  
The book is done. In the shortest amount of time he’d ever spent writing anything. He’d never expected to _actually_ finish it while still staying with Beorn. And it’s a good book, he knows that much without anyone needing to tell him. So why is Bilbo so unhappy? Oh, because he is an idiot, that’s why.  
  
He’d been packing when he discovered that one of the kittens had hid itself in his bag and when he picked it up he’d almost started to cry.

He doesn’t want to leave, but he can’t stay. He’s intruded on Beorn’s life and privacy for far too long as it is, and however gracious he was about it, Bilbo is sure that Beorn will appreciate to have things return to normal. Normal, what an awful word.  
  
Normal is living alone, completely alone in an apartment, not stepping on sawdust and wood chips and not finding kittens in the most curious of places. Normal is not being entranced by Beorn’s big hands as they so gentle stroke soft fur or make the most amazing things out of a lump of wood.  
  
Normal, _normal_ is not waking up in the night with an urge to go into someone else’s bedroom and sneak down next to him beneath the covers.  Normal is not wanting to put your ear against his chest while he laughs just so you can listen to it rumble.  
  
Normal was not being in love with someone he’d met only two months ago.  
  
-  
  
Beorn thinks about telling Bilbo, but finally decides against it. He can see that Bilbo isn’t completely happy about leaving, the animals has noticed this as well and Bilbo has acquired more than one extra shadow as of late. He tells Bilbo that he can stay longer if he wants to, but Bilbo just smiles and says:  
  
“That’s very generous of you, but I need to get back.”  
  
And Beorn can understand that. Bilbo needs to go home, so he can’t stay here. With him. So he doesn’t say anything, because if he does, then Bilbo might not come back.  
  
-  
  
He almost tells Beorn. Almost blurts it out and flings himself around his neck and asks to stay. But he doesn’t. What would it change? Nothing, except that Beorn might not want him to ever come back. Not because he’d be cruel, but it was awkward, having someone be in love with you with you returning those feelings. And you could be how polite you wanted about it, but it was still awkward. Perhaps enough for Beorn to prefer that Bilbo wouldn’t come back to visit.

-  
  
How can someone so small end up leaving so much empty room.  
  
-  
  
How can you miss waking up with a cat on your face?  
  
-  
  
The animals miss him too, except maybe the cows.  
  
-  
  
Bilbo starts to hate his apartment. It’s too big and too quiet. And part of him resents that his writer’s block seems to be most definitely gone, because if it wasn’t, he’d have a reason to go back. A valid reason.  
  
-  
   
Beorn contemplates getting a cell phone. With one of those sun powered charger things. And finding a spot which actually had coverage, there has to be one somewhere. Then he can talk to Bilbo. But maybe that will just make things worse.  
  
-  
  
It was lucky these dreams didn’t show up while he was still living with Beorn. It would be hard to explain why he needed his sheets washed so often.

-

Beorn sighs when someone knocks on his door. The dogs haven’t barked, so it’s probably Thranduil. There’s a market taking place in a few weeks, in the closest town, and Thranduil has somehow got involved in it, deciding along the way that Beorn should be too. He could be very stubborn that man, but so could Beorn.

But it’s not Thranduil.  
  
“Hello,” Bilbo says as Elin and Yngve bounce around him like someone has replaced their legs with springs. Just like the first time he found Bilbo on his porch the other man is smiling, but for some reason he looks more nervous now than he did back then.

“Hi,” Beorn says, adds: “You’re here.”  
  
“I am indeed,” Bilbo says, looking up at him, down at the dogs, up again, only to glance away. “I want to ask you something, and tell you something.”

"Are you here because you can't write?" Beorn asks, not knowing if he hopes that’s the case, because then Bilbo might stay a while, or if he hopes that’s not the case, that Bilbo might be here _anyway_ , even if it is just for a shorter visit.

"No, still pouring out of me,” Bilbo says with an awkward shrug. “It ended up being a series. Dori says that everything is forgiven. I-. I'm here, because I want to be here. And what I want to ask is if you would mind if I stayed?”

Of course he didn’t, and Beorn was about to tell him that when Bilbo shook his head.  
  
“I need to tell you something first. I- I’m in love with you. And your house, and your animals, even the stupid cows. But most of all with you. And knowing that, would you want me to stay?”  
  
The dogs went mad when Beorn picked Bilbo up and twirled him around.  
  
“You love me?” Beorn said, not quite believing it yet, but desperately wanting to.  
  
“Yes, I do. Enough to not kick you for picking me up like I’m one of your kittens.”  
  
“You’re more like a bunny,” Beorn says as he puts Bilbo back down again. “With your pointy ears and big feet and all the time you spend in the vegetable patch.”  
  
A grin had started to tug on Bilbo’s mouth. “Agree to disagree,” he offered.  
  
“Stay,” Beorn says. “For however long you want to.”  
  
“I can stay?” And now the grin was brilliant, and Beorn grins back and gives in to the urge to pick Bilbo up again.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I’m only going to forgive you for this,” Bilbo scolds him, which is remarkably ineffective as he’s still grinning and his arms have wrapped themselves around Beorn's neck. “Because now it’s easier for me to do this.” And he kisses him. And Beorn kisses back, and it’s awkward and stupid, because none of them can stop grinning.  
  
It feels like coming home.

 

\- - - - -  
  


_[Bilbo Baggins, author of the critically acclaimed super hero-themed **Sting** -series as well as **There and Back Again** , and **3 Trolls, 13 Dwarfs and Not Enough Dinner** has now written something for the very young. It’s aimed at…]_

_[In **Bunny and Bear** we get to follow Bunny as he gets lost in the woods and eventually stumbles upon Bear's house.  It's a cute story about unlikely friends, and your kids are probably going to love the more interactive parts where we get to help Bunny find his way through the forest or help Bear count his kittens, my own daughter certainly did. I’ve got a feeling that this could be a series, I guess we’ll…]_

**Author's Note:**

> Beorn’s last name taken from Bödvar Bjarki. Look him up and you'll understand why. And also because I love that I can have Bilbo Baggins and Beorn Bjarki. (And Bofur Broadbeam, even though it's not mentioned in this story) I love B's. I don't know why.
> 
> All animal names are Swedish names, just cause I’m Swedish and the name Beorn has at least Scandinavian roots.
> 
> The Scottish version of fairies live inside green hills. I’m just saying. (that someone who is not me should write this AU and probably make it Bilbo/Dwalin)
> 
> This has not been read-through by anyone other than myself, so good on you for getting through it.


End file.
